


Step by Step

by esama



Series: Moment by Moment [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Magical Chastity Barebone, Magical Modesty Barebone, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8921077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: Chastity looks for and after her siblings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed

Chastity's first memory is being tucked against Credence's side, under his blanket, hidden and safe. Credence has always been safe to her, his bed, tucked under the sheets the safest place on earth and honestly she doesn't think there will ever be a safer place than that, there. Even when she grew up too old to share a bed… they still did. Because it was safe.

There, in that warm place, they whisper secrets about magic and she cups her hands together and produces a spark of light to make her brother smile.

Not that first memory though. In that first memory she's is under Credence's arm, small and curled tight and she's crying. Something happened that day, with Mother, she can't remember what it was, but it hurt. Credence was there, probably, because Chastity remembers the guilt too, knows that Credence won't lie down on his back for a reason.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," Credence whispered to her through the night, until she believed him, until she fell asleep.

Most of her early good memories are like that. They are like soft, bouncy islands of comfort in the middle of a dark and stormy sea that is their home. Mother is the shark roaming the waters around them, but on the islands, in Credence's arms and in his bed, there is safety. Credence's bed was a safe haven in a place where, by all rights, she probably shouldn't have needed one.

The earliest realisation she had at age of five when she and Credence were out running chores, when she saw a family for the first time and realised what they were. Man and wife and their two children, girl and boy so much like Chastity and Credence – they all looked so happy. Happy in a way Chastity had never been with Mother. Father, they didn't have at all.

Theirs wasn't normal home, she realised then, and still sometimes wished she might've held onto that youthful ignorance a little longer. It had hurt more, each snap a startling shock, but at least back then, for bits of time, she could think they were happy.

They weren't though. There wasn't a happy soul in their house. There never had been.

* * *

 

Chastity's shoulder hurts and her neck feels tight and knotted. She wakes up with a groan and then, inhaling some dust, starts to cough sharply. Sensations come slowly – hard ground under her, something digging into her waist, how cold she is – then, the shadow above her.

She looks up and stares for a split of a second, completely baffled, at the walls closing in over her. Exposed bricks and crumbling mortar on one side and broken wood on the other – it's like being inside a tent, only the tent is made of broken, destroyed _walls_. Walls she recognizes.

The church is collapsed around her.

The realisation is so shocking, so _confusing_ that it doesn't even make her gasp – Chastity can only stare in utter bafflement. There is a little nook of safety around her, sheltered as she is by the two collapsed walls – but everywhere else there is nothing but rubble and destruction. Bricks, bits of wood, broken furniture, ceiling beams and tiles, all piled up where they fell. The entire church is destroyed.

Slowly, Chastity lifts herself first to her elbows and then crawls out of the nook of two walls. They groan after her even though she doesn't even touch them – and the moment she gets her feet from under them, there rumble and they collapse in on each other, one on top of the other. As if she'd been supporting them somehow.

She probably was. It wouldn't be first time her… magic… did things on it's own to save her.

Shaking a little, her knees wobbly, Chastity stands up amidst the ruins of her home. It's dark, past midnight and closer to morning than the previous evening, and everything is in shadow. There is still enough light to see, however, only there is almost nothing _left_ to see. Everything is just rubble. There is a bit of a upstanding wall at the other end of all the destruction where the chimney was, but even that was half collapsed. Whatever had happened had been very thorough.

But… what _had_ happened? Gas explosion, like on the papers? Or…

Chastity swallows, weakly brushing hands over her shirts to clear some of the dust off – it doesn't work. She's lucky she's clothed – last she remembers she was about to get ready for bed, but hadn't yet had the chance. She'd been just about to brush her hair when… when everything had started to shake.

She thinks she heard Modesty scream.

"Modesty?" she calls out. "Credence? Is there anybody here?"

No one answers her, except a distant dog barking maybe four blocks away, a faint yapping noise. It's eerily still and quiet in the ruined church, and every bit of rubble shifting or stone rolling down a pile makes her jump a little.

If… if there is anyone in the ruins they might be unconscious, like she was. They wouldn't be able to call her back.

Chastity waves for a moment and then concentrates, taking a breath. The magic creeps in, making her fingers tingle and the dust smell stronger – the noises of the night, faint and distant, grow louder. Exhaling slowly, Chastity concentrates.

Not far from her, there is a body.

Chastity doesn't want to look to make sure – but she has to. So, she climbs a pile of rubble and slides down the other side and there, half hidden under broken wood peeks out a leg in a familiar, black shoe. And under her, a pool of already drying blood.

Chastity stops there, just staring in wide eyed astonishment. She's maybe horrified, she thinks. It's hard to say, because the first thing she thinks is, _oh thank God finally_ , and after that a terrible guilt. She'd been taught terrible things in their house, but happiness at someone's death is still wrong, should be wrong, she shouldn't be happy.

But, oh thank God finally.

Shuddering, Chastity kneels down. She has to make sure – she doesn't ever want to see a dead body, but she _has_ to know for sure. If not for any other reason then to tell Credence. Credence should have the chance to know for sure, so…

She pokes at the leg sharply. It's stiff and cold under her finger and doesn't even budge. It's like a thing, rather than something that belongs to a person. A cold, stiff, _dead_ thing.

Good enough, Chastity decides hastily and backs away, her stomach roiling a little.

Shaky she climbs the rubble again, aiming for the street and away from the destruction her home's become – towards the freedom that in turns terrifies and excites here. Finally, finally, there's nothing to stop her.

Now all she needs to do is find Modesty and Credence and finally they'd be free.

She's trembling a little when she finally stands on the street, dusty and dirty and exhausted but very determined. Modesty and Credence aren't in the rubble, she knows that much, she would've felt them by now – and she can _always_ feel them when they are near and here, they aren't.

With a breath, Chastity extends a hand, concentrating and turning slowly in a circle. It's a skill she uses usually to find lost things – Modesty's shoes and Credence's socks and her own hat when ever she can't recall when she put it. For a moment she isn't sure it even works on people.

But then her fingers tingle and her forefinger points out, down the street, towards a block of brownstone apartments.

 _Modesty_.

Shaking away the murky confusion and elation and sudden, terrible fear, Chastity sets out in a run.

* * *

 

Whatever destroyed the church has been to the apartment too. Outwardly it doesn't look too bad – there is a hole in the side about the size of an automobile, but aside from that the building is still standing. Inside, however, it's almost completely in ruins, rubble and glass and dust everywhere.

"Modesty!" Chastity calls as she tries to figure out a way to climb the destroyed stairs. "Modesty, can you hear me! It's Chastity – Modesty please answer me!"

At first there is nothing and she's just about to risk a jump over a terrible gap in the stairs when she hears a weak wail. "C-Chastity! I'm here!"

"Where?" Chastity calls back, looking up, around, everywhere, and can't see anything but rubble. It's so dark inside she can't see much anything, so, after a moment of nervousness, she cups out her hands.

Light flickers in her palms for a moment and then strengthens as she wills it brighter. Steadily it illuminates the ruins, bit by bit, casting terrible sharp shadows everywhere but lighting the way. The gap, however, is still too big for her to jump.

"Modesty, can you see the light?" Chastity calls. "Can you come closer to it, so that I can see you?"

"Yeah, I think so," is the answer and there is sound of shuffling, of a bit of a stone rolling across wood, and then, in the second floor, Chastity's pale face. Her hair is loose and dirty and she's in a nightgown. "Chastity!"

Chastity offers her a hasty, probably terrible smile and then quickly looks around for a way for Modesty to come down. The stairs are collapsed, as are most of the walls, and something above groans ominously. The building is far from safe, the quicker they get out the better.

"Jump," Chastity says, shifting the light into one hand.

"What?!" Modesty asks, her voice shrill.

"Jump – I'll catch you," Chastity says and dearly hopes she can. She has to. "It's the quickest way, Modesty and we need to get out of here – jump!"

Modesty jumps, her hair whipping out and her night dress flapping and Chastity holds out her hand, willing with all her might for her to stop. For a terrible, terrible moment it looks like nothing happens – but then Modesty slows just a little and then a little more.

She stops completely in front of Chastity, who snatches her up from mid air and holds her close. "Are you alright – are you hurt? What happened?" Chastity demands as she quickly checks modesty over. Her feet are bare and she has scrapes on her shins, but nothing's broken, nothing's bleeding.

"It was – it was Credence," Modesty hiccups, shaking not just with fright, but with cold. "Mother – I had a – Mother found it and Credence stood up for me – I'm so sorry, Chastity, I didn't mean to – "

Chastity shrugs off her dust stained jacket and quickly wraps it over her sister's shaking shoulders. "Slower, Modesty – what did Mother find? What did Credence do?"

Modesty draws a hitched, wet breath and shakes her head. "Jackie, he – he got a knife somewhere and he thought it'd be a laugh – he found bits of wood, branches and such, and he made us wands, just, you know, toys," she whispers. "And I got one too, I hid it under my bed – and -"

"Modesty," Chastity whispers in horror. "You know better!"

"I know!" the younger girl wails. "But it was so nice and it was mine and I couldn't very well tell Jackie not when he'd already made it for me! I didn't think Mother would – I thought I hid it well…"

She shakes and looks down, hugging herself. "M-Mother found it and she was so mad, I didn't think she'd ever be so mad at me –"

Chastity sighs, shaking her head, more frustrated than anything. Mother never got mad at them, and definitely not Modesty who was her favourite. Not when there was Credence around to… take all the blame. She knew she relied on it far too much when she was younger, knew Modesty relied on it too, but…

"The Credence came," Modesty whispers. "Mother asked for – for his belt. And… and he didn't give it."

Yeah, Credence wouldn't. "Then what?" Chastity asks, taking Modesty's hand and leading her down the broken flight of stairs and into the relative safety of the open street, where they wouldn't be in danger of getting caught in a collapsing building.

"I… don't know?" Modesty admits. "Credence, he… something happened, he was different, he got angry, he… turned into smoke."

"Smoke," Chastity repeats dully.

"Smoke, black smoke, that moved on it's own," Modesty nods. "And Mother was thrown back and then… everything started collapsing."

"Smoke," Chastity says again. "Credence became _smoke_."

"I'm not lying," her sister says with a frown. "He became smoke, I saw it, it was _smoke_."

Chastity shakes her head and runs a hand over her eyes. Everything is tilting a bit and she's vaguely aware that she's still nauseous. Credence is… like them, but he also isn't. What Chastity and Modesty have, it is broken inside Credence. They'd all always known it – but she'd always thought it meant that Credence just couldn't do things they could and that's all.

Black smoke. Like what people reported when those buildings… collapsed. What was called gas explosions, but which people couldn't agree on because there was no fire or heat or even actual gas. Black smoke, and torn buildings.

Chastity looks up, at the crumbling remains of the Second Salem Church.

"Chastity, is Credence…?" Modesty whispers, her voice thin with fear.

"I don't know," Chastity admits and lifts out a shaking hand, the light fading in her palm. "Let's see if we can find him."

* * *

 

Magic has never been a precisely good thing for any of them. It is a secret, risky thing to be kept hidden and under literal covers – only safe time to show it was with Credence and even then with terrible care. Never had they been free to use it, and rarely are they happy to have it. It's always been a danger.

Using it so much and so freely makes Chastity's skin crawl. Years of suppression and hiding makes her feel like she should duck for cover, hide in the shadows, keep out of sight rather than walking hastily down the street, led by the tingle of her fingers. Beside her, Modesty is on verge of tears and she doesn't blame her.

The morning is not dawning quick enough and it's still dark, and terrible, and cold – and Modesty doesn't even have shoes on. And the further they go, the wetter it gets – it looks like it's been raining in the city centre.

"Here," Chastity says finally and crouches down. "I'll give you a piggyback ride. Come on. You will have to squeeze with your legs though – I need my hand free to feel Credence out."

It's testament to how tired and hurting Modesty is that she doesn't even argue, just climbs into her back and winds her arm around her shoulders. Her legs wind around Chastity's hips and Chastity supports them with one hand – the other she keeps in front of her.

It's a terribly long way, and the air is cold and humid. Chastity is somehow both sweating and chilled by the time the tingle shifts, direction changing just the slightest – leading tiny bit downwards. She looks up and frowns – they're in front of a subway exit.

"I think he's down there?" Chastity murmurs.

"Can we go down there? Is it open?" Modesty asks fearfully.

Chastity hesitates and then reaches back to support her sister with both hands. "Let's find out."

They can – it is open. The subway platform is completely deserted, Chastity's steps echoing eerily in the dimly lit, cavernous place. It is also, somehow, _strange_. The air feels like it's buzzing against her skin. There's something there.

"Chastity," Modesty says in a hushed, alarmed whisper.

"I feel it too," Chastity says, looking around. "I think it's… it might be… magic." It feels like it felt like Modesty still had big outbursts, when things just happened – the air tingled just like this back then.

"Do you think it's Credence?" Modesty asks. "Let me down."

Chastity kneels down to let her sister get back to her feet and looks around little more. Then she lifts a hand, trying to find a tingle pointing Credence's way.

It feels like it's coming… everywhere.

"Credence?" Chastity calls. "Credence, are you here?"

The words echo away, across the platform and down the tunnel, _Credence are you here, are you here, here, here…_ it seems to go on forever and Chastity shudders, Modesty clutching to her skirt nervously as they both look around, waiting for… something.

"Hello?"

It's not Credence. The voice is wrong and both girls jerk with surprise and whirl around fearfully.

There's a man there in a blue coat, who is just coming down the subway tunnel, walking along the tracks. He looks just as astonished to find them as they are to see him.

"Pardon me, did you just say, Credence?" the man asks, his accent strange and polished. English.

"Who are you?" Chastity asks, even while quickly pulling Modesty behind her, hiding her as much as she can.

The man blinks and then, awkward and gangly, climbs from the tracks to the platform. He's carrying a leather suitcase, for some reason. "Newt," he says as he stands up, tall and bit spindly. "Newt Scamander, how do you do?"

"Er. Fine," Chastity answers, backing a way little. "We're fine. We're not doing anything, we just – wanted to get out of the rain."

"Right," the man says, and he doesn't even sound dubious. "And calling for someone named Credence – which incidentally what I was doing just moments ago," he adds and then looks down the tunnel. "I'm fairly sure he's still hanging around here, but…"

"How do you know Credence?" Modesty asks before Chastity can stop her.

"I can't say I know hi, but I met him, briefly, and I know what he is," the man says and casts them an sidelong glance that isn't as much sly as it is just awkward. "And you?"

"He's our brother," Modesty says.

"Modesty, shush," Chastity whispers.

They have the man's interest now, he turns to look at them more thoroughly now. "Right, right, I remember you, I saw you in front of the Steen National Bank," the man says. "Credence is your elder brother, then. Right."

Chastity bites her lip. "What do you know about Credence?" she demands.

The man hesitates. "I know he is in terrible need of help," he says finally and looks up, at the ceiling. "And I was hoping to help him, before everything went terribly wrong and I didn't get the chance. He's still here, however – which..." he trails off and looks at them. "How do you know he's here?"

Chastity swallows and doesn't answer, and the tight grip she has on Modesty's shoulder thankfully keeps her from saying anything either.

The man's eyebrows lift a little. "Well," he says after a moment. "Never mind. Shall we help your brother together, then?"

"Help him how? What's wrong with Credence?" Chastity asks.

"Right now?" the man asks and points upwards.

Slowly, they look up. What Chastity had thought were simply shadows were shreds of what look like smoke, curling in the corners of the rafters and hiding between arches. They move not like smoke should – but like living things, shifting and squirming.

"I think he's having hard time putting himself back together again," Mr. Scamander says diplomatically. "I was hoping I'd be able to call all of his bits and pieces together, give him a convergence point, but I don't think he can hear me. Might be that he's not even conscious."

Chastity stares, her mouth falling slowly open as she takes in the shreds of shadow here and there. "T-that's Credence?" she whispers.

"I told you he turned into smoke," Modesty says.

"That's Credence," the man agrees. "And quicker he gets out of that shape, the better. It's terribly unsafe for him here, like that," he adds and looks down on them. "There are bits of him scattered all through the station and along the tracks. And the sooner we get them all together, the better."

Chastity swallows. "B-but if he's _smoke_ , how are we going to…" she stops, frowning. "Who are you?" she asks again, turning to the man. "How do you know all this?"

"I've met one like him before," the man says, peering upwards. "A very sad and very unfortunate little girl in Sudan, who'd been imprisoned and punished for her magic all her life, until she rejected it with all her might. It then turned inwards, formed into something much like this. Obscurials they're called."

There's moment of silence and the man looks down again and Chastity and Modesty stare at him. "Magic," Modesty says finally. "You know about _magic_."

"Well," the man says and shrugs – and then, he takes out a wand. "Just a bit. So what say you, shall we try and help your brother now?"


	2. Chapter 2

Part of Chastity had doubted wands. She wasn't even sure why. Maybe because they had never had them, had never even figured how you'd get one or what would you even do with it. Maybe because there was something so intrinsically _fairytale_ about the concept of using a tiny sliver of wood to make magic. She had never quite understood what was the _point_ of them, when they could do magic – and _did_ so sometimes without even meaning to – just fine without them.

But watching Mr. Scamander conduct magic with the tip of his wand like it was less a wild power and more a delicate art, she thinks maybe she gets it now. It wasn't as much a necessary part of it all, as it was a tool, something to aim a blunt thing into a more subtle form or use. Less a gun – maybe still bit like a gun – and more like a brush.

"Chastity," Modesty says, her voice thin and reedy and trembling terribly. She's all but hugging Chastity's leg now, and her eyes are wide, her face even paler than before.

And then it dawns on Chastity that the man in front of them is a _witch_.

"I put up some Muggle Repelling Charms when I came down here, you know," Mr. Scamander says, not even looking at them as he does something. It's like he's drawing a soap bubble in air, outline of glimmering colour, borderline invisible. "And I am fairly practiced with those. You wouldn't have been able to get in here at all, if you were Muggles."

"What's a Muggle?" Modesty asks.

"A Nomaj," the man says with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Whichever. The non-wizards."

Chastity opens her mouth, closes it to swallow, and then tries again. "Wizards?"

It must be something about her tone of voice, the sheer incredulity she can't quite cover, that makes the man pause. Mr. Scamander looks at them, wand still poised in the act of drawing out the glimmering soap bubble sphere. His eyes are quick, thoughtful and then understanding. "…oh."

The soap bubble pops as he lowers his wand awkwardly, turning to face them. "Right, right, of course – you don't know."

Chastity backs away a step instinctively, reaching out to keep Modesty behind her. "What don't we know?" she asks warily.

"Anything, apparently," the wizard says, glancing from her to Modesty and then up at the flickering, squirming darkness above. "That… would explain things. Your Mother kept you from magic, didn't she? It you ever even got a invitation to Ilvermorny, I imagine it would have been torn up."

"What is _Ilver_ – no," Chastity stops and draws a breath. "Please, could you… explain? Please?"

"When a witch or a wizard turns around eleven – or bit younger, there's one school they start learning around seven – they get invited to a magic school," Mr. Scamander says. "For people like you, Muggleborns – Nomajborns – people with no magical upbringing, it tends to be their introduction to magic. But you are bit older. I don't suppose you ever even saw your invitation."

Chastity blinks. "Magic schools – there are schools for _magic_?"

"Hm. Very important institutions – I think you'd call the boarding schools," Mr. Scamander muses, looking down at his wand. "They offer foundation to young witches and wizards, and certain sense of stability. Very important, that, in the long run."

"Magic schools," Modesty murmurs in wonder while Chastity shakes her head in confusion.

Mr. Scamander glances at them, pressing his lips tightly together for a moment. "The system of the Great Schools. It's supposed to be how we take care of magical children – especially children like you. I wonder how did you slip through the cracks. Three magical children, in non-magical household like _that_ – and one of you even…"

He shakes his head and looks upwards, at the darkness. Then he points his wand out into the air again and starts painting out the soap bubble again.

Chastity runs a shaking hand over her face and tries to put her thoughts in order – the concept of magic schools, the Great Schools, is like a bump in the road and she keeps stumbling over it. School of magic. If everything had, if things had been… different, they would've gone to _magic school_ to _learn magic_ with other witches. And _wizards_!

"What's… the difference between a witch and a wizard?" she asks faintly.

"Sex," Mr. Scamander says. "Witches tend to be of the female persuasion, wizards the male. Though, that too varies. Someplace everyone is a wizard… and of course some witches prefer to be wizards, some wizards prefer to be witches…"

Chastity shakes her head. Wizard isn't a word that had ever came up – it was all too fantastical for their house hold, too fairytale. But maybe it is a fairytale the same way wand is a fairytale. Mr. Scamander certainly isn't white bearded old man in pointy hat and fancy robe, and he has no staff – but he isn't witchly.

She's starting to figure out that maybe she doesn't know what _witchly_ even is.

"What are you doing now?" Modesty asks. "That's magic, is it? Why are you making soap bubbles?"

"It's a containment shield," Mr. Scamander says, flicking his wand over the bubble and sending a shimmer of light over it. "Surprisingly powerful for all that it looks so flimsy. My idea was that we could try and gather the bits of Credence into this and hopefully… when there's enough of them in a group, he will come together again."

Chastity licks her lower lip and looks upwards, at the shadows. "What happened to Credence – is that… common?"

"It used to be," Mr. Scamander says darkly. "Before the Secrecy came in place, back in times of the Witch Trials, it was more common. Non-magical people with magical children could, out of fear and ignorance and wrong minded righteousness, do terrible things to their kids. It's supposed to be unheard of now – but here we are."

"Can you fix him?" Modesty asks quietly.

Mr. Scamander hesitates and then flicks his wand again. "Right now, I fear I'll just settle in taking him somewhere bit safer," he says grimly and considers the soap bubble shield. "There, that should hold. Now let's see if we can get him into this."

As they watch in confused, worried silence, the wizard floats the shield bubble up to were the shadows curl. Chastity's breath catches a little as they watch the bubble push into the shadows and then, in a wobbling jerk, the shadows are sucked inside. It's just a tiny bit of them, curling in the containment of the shield.

"Does that hurt him?" Chastity asks, turning to Mr. Scamander.

The wizard hesitates. "It might – but I don't think it could possibly hurt him more than he already is. And I can't think of any other way to put him together."

She bites her lib and then nods. It's not as if she would know what to do, anyway. She isn't even sure she knows what's going on. "Alright."

The first bits of Credence are easy to get into the bubble. All Mr. Scamander has to do is to float the bubble up and push it over the bits of darkness that is Credence, and they get sucked inside, quick and easy. But, as Mr. Scamander said, the bits were scattered all around the station – and once the easier-to-get-to ones are all inside the bubble, the rest are little harder.

"Could you two go around looking for them?" Mr. Scamander asks, conducting the bubble into another corner. Inside it, the shadow lazily whirls together, melding into single mass. Every so often, red light flickers inside. "From what I've seen they gravitate towards corners and shadows – look for any shadow that looks a bit unnatural."

"Right," Chastity says and takes Modesty's hand. Together they peer into the shadows and point the shreds of Credence out to Mr. Scamander who collects them, bit by bit, into the growing mass. After a while, though, they get impossible to spot – they've cleared the station.

"You said that they are scattered along the tracks, too?" Chastity asks.

"Yes," Mr. Scamander says frowning. "Those I imagine will be a bit more difficult."

"Chastity, could you," Modesty murmurs and waves her hand in the _find-things_ sort of way, their code for Chastity looking for lost things.

"I guess," Chastity answers and hesitates, casting a glance at the wizard. Mr. Scamander quickly looks away, but Chastity can see him glancing at her curiously as she takes a breath and holds out her hand, waving it slowly from side to side.

It feels a bit like what she's looking for is _everywhere_ around them – and most of the tingle points the way of Mr. Scamander's bubble, of course. But there, down the rail tunnel. "There's one there," she says, squeezing Modesty's hand before dropping down from the platform and onto the tracks.

Mr. Scamander follows with the bubble and while anxious, bare-footed Modesty watches from the smooth floor above, they find the shred of darkness in the tunnel.

"Can you find the rest of them like that?" Mr. Scamander asks.

"Maybe, but we're not leaving Modesty behind," Chastity says quickly.

"No, of course not," the wizard says and looks back thoughtfully. "Shoes," he then says and walks back to the platform. There, he sets down the suitcase he'd been carrying, and undoes the clasps with one hand and throws the lid open.

Then, impossibly, he sticks his whole arm inside, the hand holding the wand all but disappearing into the suitcase which by all sensible _reason_ shouldn't be that deep.

"Is that a _ladder_?" Modesty asks with voice slightly shrill with disbelief. "How do you have _ladder_ inside your suitcase? How does it fit in there – how is that possible?"

"Undetectable expansion charms," Mr. Scamander says and pulls his wand hand up. After it floats up a pair of fairly dirty boots. He grimaces and flicks his wand over them, and they instantly, magically, polish themselves. "There, right – my dear, could you put your feet in these so that I can fit them down to size?"

"Are they magic boots?" Modesty asks, while very, very carefully slipping into the pair. They're big enough to almost reach her knees and she looks rather ridiculous.

"They do have few water repelling and anti-slipping charms. Good for hiking up muddy hills," Mr. Scamander admits and runs his wand over the boots. They shrink almost immediately and Modesty gasps with wonder as she finds herself suddenly wearing perfectly fitting pair of laced up leather boots.

"There you go," Mr. Scamander says, and then considers her – and then at Chastity. "A coat as well I think," he then says, and dives back, elbow deep, into the suitcase. This time he pulls out floating blue coat, identical in almost every way to the one he's wearing. "Right – which one you would like it?"

Chastity shakes the open mouthed stare of wonder from her face and steps forward. "Modesty, give it to Modesty," she says while Modesty quickly takes off her jacket, handing it back to Chastity.

Mr. Scamander nods and then the jacket floats on Modesty, the hem dragging the heels of her newly fitting boots. "Arms in the sleeves, please," the wizard says and Modesty tucks her hands into the too big sleeves, looking very much like a child trying on an adult's clothes. Flick of a wand later, the coat shrinks, the hem lifting from the floor, sleeves shrinking into size and then it's a perfect fit, reaching just little below Modesty's knees.

"Oh it's really warm," Modesty says in wonder.

"Warming charms," Mr. Scamander explains. "I can take them off if you'd like."

"No, I like it," Modesty says tugs the lapels over each other, doing the buttons on the front. "It's nice, thank you – eek!" She yanks her hand up in shock and peers down. "Something touched me, there's something in the pocket!"

"Pickett," Mr. Scamander sighs and reaches out a hand. "Come here, you…" There's something spindly sticking out of the pocket of the coat and as they stare, it peeks out. It's a stick and it looks _offended._

"Don't be like that, I wouldn't have shrank it down if I knew you were in the pocket – and you weren't supposed to be," Mr. Scamander says as the spindly stick thing climbs up to his hand. "I thought you were at the tree. No, don't look at me like that – I'm _not_ your home tree."

"What _is_ that?" Modesty asks breathlessly.

"Bowtruckle," Mr. Scamander explains and shows the stick creature to them. It has two leaves sticking from it's head and it makes a face, somehow, despite being a stick. "Tree guardian they're called. They eat wood lice and are tremendously useful for growing wand trees – with enough numbers they can keep an entire forest free of vermin. Very good at picking locks too."

Pickett the Bowtruckle critters at them and then climbs up Mr. Scamander's wrist up his arm and to his shoulder. "This one is a little attached to me, though," the wizard says as he closes his suitcase again. "We're working on it."

"Huh," Chastity says. "Tree guardian."

"It's a magical creature?" Modesty asks.

"That he is," Mr. Scamander says, peering down at the Bowtruckle. "He's a little shy though, so never mind him. Now, is everyone warm and ready to go?"

"Modesty?" Chastity asks.

"I'm ready to go," Modesty agrees and hops down to the tracks, her new boots thumping down heavily. She looks queerly like Mr. Scamander, wearing a coat so much like his. "Can we see other magical creatures, Mr. Scamander?"

"I reckon you can," the wizard says, flicking his wand up again to catch Credence in his bubble. "But first let's try and put your brother back together."

* * *

 

It takes better part of an hour to track all the bits across the tracks. They walk the dark tracks in the light of Modesty's cupped palms, Mr. Scamander being busy supporting the bubble and Chastity trying to _find_ the bits of her brother. They get more sparse the further they go, and Chastity has harder time to point them out – her hand tends to point at the bubble, rather than any tiny bit of shadow that might be hiding ten feet away. More than that, though, there is a tingle that leads away from the subway tunnels entirely.

"How did he get like this?" Chastity asks. "I mean – how did he end up so scattered?"

"Do you know what your brother can do, in this state?" Mr. Scamander asks carefully.

"Maybe," Chastity murmurs, thinking about the news articles, the church, Mother. "He… can destroy things."

"Hm, yes, well," Mr. Scamander sighs. "What he does is, while not common, still magic. And the Magical Congress is bound to try and stop that sort of thing from happening in the Muggle side of the city. I'm sorry to say they've been after your brother for a while now for what he's been doing, intentional or not. Yesterday, Credence… lost control, and what he did was quite noticeable."

He looks up at the sphere. "They could track him, and I'm sorry to say he was hunted down. I tried to step in to put a stop to it without anyone getting hurt but… my word doesn't weigh for much around here and no one much listened. He was trapped down in the underground platform and attacked, in his Obscurus form, with quite bit magic. I imagine people think he was killed, but all they did was tear him into shreds."

Chastity swallows, her eyes wide. "They tried to kill him?" she whispers and Modesty shift closer, the light she'd been holding in her cupped palms flickering a little.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Scamander says. "But your brother has killed at least one person by now."

"Two," Chastity murmurs. "Credence killed Mother too."

"Good riddance," Modesty mutters.

The wizard glances at them, lips pressed into a line, and then looks away. "Right," he says and sighs. "Can you feel any other shreds of him here?"

Chastity holds up her hand and feels for it. Turning slowly in spot, she aims her hand all around them, stopping when she gets to the mass inside the bubble. "Not here," she says. "But I think there's some aboveground, not far from here."

Mr. Scamander nods, looking around them. "I suppose we should find an exit then…."

Chastity nods and watches him. "Mr. Scamander? What are you going to do when we find all of Credence?"

"I was planning of putting him into my suitcase," the wizard says. "Now that everyone thinks he's dead, they wouldn't try to stop me, at least, so I figured I had the time to find out how to help him. Now though…"

He turns to them consideringly. "Well, you're his family, so I suppose it would be up to you now."

Chastity looks down, at the tracks and then at Modesty cradling the bit of light in her hands. "Our house collapsed," she admits. "We don't have a place to go. And Mother is dead and Credence is like this…"

The wizard waits until chastity can breathe steadier again and then sighs. "You two are magical children," he then says. "If I took you to the Magical Congress, they'd help you. You might even be send to Ilvermorny after all. And Modesty too, when she turns eleven."

Chastity frowns a little at that. Magic school, with young witches and wizards… "And Credence?" she asks. "What would happened to Credence?"

"Credence is safest when no one knows he's still around," Mr. Scamander admitted with a frustrated sigh. "He is… incredibly powerful and already one mad Dark Wizard has come after him for that power. Secrecy will be his best defence, at least for now."

"You can't separate us," Chastity whispers, even though she figures he probably could, if he wanted to. Adult wizard with decades of magic… it would probably not even take much effort on his part. "You can't – he's our brother, you _can't just_ –"

"I'm not – going to," Mr. Scamander stumbles to say, awkward and alarmed. "I don't mean to – sorry, that did come out wrong. But truth to the matter is, you would be taken care off if the MACUSA were informed, I'm sure. You'd get to learn magic, get wands of your own and so forth. Credence is… older. And he's…" he trails off and shakes his head. "If he can take a body again and if he can still be… it will be more difficult for him – but you could still have a normal lives as part o –"

"No, not without Credence," Chastity says, shaking her head. "Not ever."

"You can't take Credence away from us," Modesty adds with a frown. "He's _ours_ , not yours."

Mr. Scamander sighs. "I don't intend to," he says with some frustration. "I only mean…" he trails off with another sigh. "My suitcase is no place for children," he says a little plaintively. "I've been very reliably informed it's really _not_."

Chastity's eyes widen and Modesty draws a breath and they both stare at the wizard who _squirms_ like a guilty schoolboy under their gazes. "Perhaps – we put this off until we find the rest of your brother," the man says desperately. "We'll… discuss it further once he's safe and secure. Alright?"

* * *

 

They eventually find a exit from the subway tunnels and emerge in the streets of New York through some sort of maintenance shaft. It's still pretty dark outside, but morning light is starting to peek past the buildings and there are even few people out and above.

"Right, right," Mr., Scamander murmurs and waves his wand over the bubble holding most of Credence. Nothing outwardly changes but now, when Chastity looks away and only sees it from the corner of her eye, the bubble looks like… balloon. Or maybe like an umbrella?

"What did you do?" she asks in confusion, looking away and back. Bubble, umbrella, bubble, balloon… whatever it is, it even hides the wand Mr. Scamander is holding, turning it into a string or umbrella handle in his hand.

"Masking charm, notice-me-not-charm – standard stuff to keep non-magical people from noticing magical things," Mr. Scamander explains. "This way they see what you could reasonably expect to see out and about, rather than what's actually there."

"But when I look straight at it, I see what it is?"

"Well, you're not non-magical, are you?" the wizard says with a faintly amused smile. "Now, which way are we going next?"

Chastity takes a breath and tries to find Credence again, pointing her open palm this way and that until she feels the now very familiar tingle. "There," she says and points. "There's a bit of him down that alley."

"Right, let's go find him then," Mr. Scamander says with a nod.

They follow the bits of Credence like trail of breadcrumbs through the alleys of New York and Chastity starts to frown with confusion after a while. "They're all in a line," she says. "Was he trying to go somewhere, or…?"

"Hmm, perhaps. I'm new to this city – can you think of what he might have been aiming for?" the wizard asks thoughtfully.

"Home?" Modesty asks.

"No, that's the other way," Chastity says and tries to think of something. "I don't know, I can't think of anything. Sometimes Credence did go out by himself and I thought he might be seeing a girl or something but…"

"A girl?" Mr. Scamander arches his eyebrows with interest, with Pickett the Bowtruckle peeking out of his pocket.

"Credence was seeing a _girl_?" Modesty asks in mirthful horror. "Credence has a girlfriend!"

"Or something – he always looked so guilty coming back, but he never would say where he'd gone, not even when Mother…" Chastity bites her tongue on that and shakes her head. "I thought he might've found someone he liked, or something."

She'd never asked him about it. She'd figured that really, he deserved any bit of happiness he could find outside the church and if he found that with someone he liked, all the better for him really. Sometimes… she'd even wished he'd just run away with whomever he'd found.

"Hmm," the wizard hums, thoughtful. "Maybe he did. Let's try and see where he's leading us, then."

The shreds of Credence lead them into an alley and there Chastity stops finding any more. As far as her palm can say, the last bit of darkness hiding in the clutter of trash and dumpsters is the last nit of Credence to be found, but something about Mr. Scamander's expression makes her doubt it.

"He was a bit bigger than this," the wizard says slowly. Which, considering that the bubble floating above them is now about as big as an automobile, is saying something.

"How much is a bit?" Chastity asks worriedly, peering at the shield and darkness squirming inside it.

"Three, four times bigger? That might have been him flexing out, however. It was a little hectic, the whole thing," Mr. Scamander muses. "Are you sure you can't feel any more of him?"

Chastity shakes her head and they all look around worriedly. As far as they can tell, there isn't much anything in the alleyway – it doesn't even have any sign of homeless people or anything.

"Hmm," Mr. Scamander hums suspiciously and then releases his wand hold on the shield bubble. He flicks the wand around them, murmuring softly, " _Revelio_."

A shimmer runs through a wall not far from them and as they watch, a door flickers into existence where there'd been nothing but a blank brick wall previously. It's a normal looking back door, wooden with paint chipped at the bottom – except for one thing.

Someone had painting a symbol on it. Circle inside a triangle with a line cutting through both.

"Well," Mr. Scamander murmurs uneasily. "I guess that explains things."


	3. Chapter 3

"What is it?" Chastity asks, eying the door. The symbol on it doesn't look, exactly, ominous. It kind of looks like something she's seen in a book about geometry once – basic shapes and such. It's only Mr. Scamander's reaction to it that makes her worry, and it's bad enough reaction to make her worry quite a bit.

"I don't suppose I could convince you to… leave?" the man asks, rather hopelessly, as he flicks his wand over the door a couple of times. "I don't think Alohamora will cut it here…"

"What is it?" Chastity asks again, tucking Modesty a little closer.

"Hm. There was a very, very bad wizard who was captured yesterday – one of the worst wizards there are, really," Mr. Scamander says, stepping back from the door for a moment and turning to them. "That is his mark and I doubt there will be anything good inside."

"Why would Credence try get to this… bad wizard's house?" Chastity asks nervously, now frowning at the door.

"I don't know – but from what I heard… they might've known each other," Mr. Scamander says. "The dark wizard might have even had something to do with what happened yesterday to set Credence off so badly. He certainly was interested enough."

"The bad wizard," Modesty says slowly. "Is his name Graves?"

Mr. Scamander turns to her with surprise. "He was pretending it was his name – but how do you know that?"

Modesty frowns, taking Chastity's hand in hers. "When mother – when Credence… When the church started collapsing I ran away and to the building next door," she says quietly. "I think Credence came after me – there was that smoke for a while and the building shook a lot… Then it stopped and Credence was there, crying and the man came. I don't remember all what they said, I wasn't really listening, but Credence called him Mr. Graves. And I think he slapped Credence."

"Modesty," Chastity murmurs, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"The man talked to me, told me to come out – I was hiding behind some rubble and – Credence got so mad, I don't why," Modesty whispers. "And then he became smoke again."

Mr. Scamander looks away and up to the darkness filled bubble above them, thoughtful. "The dark wizard, Grindelwald, was after the Obscurus," he says. "He assumed the identity of another wizard named Percival Graves and somehow he tracked the Obscurus down to your home. I reckon he somehow came into contact with Credence… strung him along to find the Obscurial, never knowing it was Credence himself."

"Why?" Chastity asks with a frown. And, if Credence had met a wizard… why hadn't he ever told them? Surely he would've told them if he met someone had magic?

"I honestly haven't the faintest clue. He said something about an Obscurus being useful, but…" Mr. Scamander shakes her head and looks down at them. "Obscurus is very powerful magical entity. A very destructive one too. A mad wizard bent on destruction, much like Grindelwald, might be able to think uses for a thing like that, but I can't say I understand the reasoning."

Chastity swallows and looks up at the dark, flickering mass of power above them. Why hadn't he told them anything? They shared everything to do with magic. Why hadn't he…

"What's in there?" Modesty asks, nodding at the door with the triangle symbol on it.

"I don't know," Mr. Scamander says. "But I'd feel much better about it if you two weren't there."

"Bits of Credence is in there, isn't that right?" Chastity says, shaking the feeling of hollow betrayal from her head. "He's our brother. We're not leaving."

Mr. Scamander makes a pained face at that, looking at them. Chastity digs her heels in and feels Modesty go tense next to her and after a moment the wizard lets out a sigh. "Alright, alright," he says and shakes his head. "But we're taking precautions. Stand still for a moment, please."

Then, he casts spells on them. Chastity gapes as the world suddenly starts to glimmer and then, almost immediately after, turns bright. Suddenly, she is very aware of everything around her – every sound and smell, and everything seems as lit as in bright sunlight.

"Shield, super sensory, night vision, detection, should help you avoid being hit, what else – bubble head charm just in case," Mr. Scamander mutters and there is a bubble of air suddenly around Chastity's mouth and nose, like an enormous soap bubble that covers her chin and goes down her neck. "Maybe just in case a cushion charm too – it'll make you a little bouncy, but if you fall or get thrown back you won't get hurt."

"What are you doing?" Chastity asks while Modesty pokes similar bubble of air around her chin and nose curiously.

"Trying to death proof you," Mr. Scamander says with look of concentration. "Thankfully you're magical so these will stick a little better than they would on a muggle. Maybe I should get your actual armour just in case…"

"What on earth do you think is in there?" Chastity asks with wide eyes.

"The lair of a very bad wizard? Which he might have booby-trapped. Wizards are always booby-trapping things," Mr. Scamander mutters and narrows his eyes a little more. "Alright, I guess that's as good as I can do. Now stay behind me and if I tell you to run, you must run. Promise you will."

"Mr. Scamander –"

"Promise me you will run," the man says very firmly. "I am not joking. Promise me. Both of you."

Chastity shares an uneasy look with Modesty. She's not so sure about wanting to go in after all. "We promise."

"Yeah," Modesty agrees, and blows a breath. It makes the bubble on her face expand for a moment.

"Alright. Good," Mr. Scamander says and then lifts a hand to his pocket. The Bowtruckle who had been watching the proceedings curiously climbs into his hand. "I hate to ask you this, Pickett, but would be a dear?"

He holds the Bowtruckle towards the door handle and with fortifying inhale, the little creature reaches to poke at the lock. Pickett's long, spindly fingers fit in easily and with look of almost comical concentration on his little stick face, he turns the them this way and that until, after a moment, there is a click.

"Bowtruckles, excellent at opening things," Mr. Scamander explains while lifting the stick creature into his pocket again. "Are you ready? Stay behind me now – and watch the shield bubble."

The door opens – and they stare. It's… not quite what one might've expected from a dark wizard's lair and judging by his gob smacked expression it's not what Mr. Scamander was expecting either.

The place is in complete ruins. There's bits of shredded wall paper floating in the air, the floor blanks are torn up and snapped into bits, the walls themselves are full of enormous scrapes and holes. It looks a little like a whirlwind tore through the place…

It looks a little like what Credence had done to the church.

"Ah," Mr. Scamander says. "I don't think we have to worry about traps after all. Mind your step now, and if you see shadows…"

He floats the smoky shield bubble above him as he steps into the building. Clutching Modesty closer, Chastity follows. She gets the weirdest impression that the space beyond is pitch black, that she can't actually see anything – except she can, everything is still as bright as if was full noon.

"Did you do something to my eyes?" she asks.

"Night vision charm – it only lasts for half an hour," Mr. Scamander says. He is walking carefully with knees bent, every step clumsily cautious as he navigates the broken floorboards, stepping on the supports underneath them more than actual floor. "Ah, I see more of Credence."

So did Chastity. There were squirming mass of blackness spilling out from down the hall, through what looked like a hole torn right through a wall there. It's more agitated and lively than the mass in the bubble, and when Mr. Scamander steps closer, it flinches away.

"Ah, Credence," Mr. Scamander says and crouches down slowly. "Credence, can you hear me? Your sisters are here, can you see them?"

The mass of shadows freezes at that for a moment and then it _recoils_ so badly that they can see the torn wall it's almost completely covering.

"Credence," Chastity calls and her chin trembles embarrassingly. "Credence!"

As the mass of blackness squirms and flinches, Mr. Scamander points a wand up at the shield bubble above them. It pops without a sound and the shadows inside it are immediately sucked into the mass on the wall, like two bits of water combining.

Something changes then – the shadow shudders, a very visible ripple running through it. Then it shifts and jerks and _drains_ down, falling into a single point which condenses, slowly, in to a figure clad in dark.

The shadows under Credence's eyes are almost black, they're so deep, and he looks not as much exhausted as _dead_. "Chastity," he gasps. "Modesty."

"Credence," Chastity gasps and together she and Modesty run past Mr. Scamander, falling into Credence's arms clumsily.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Credence chokes, his arms tight like bands of iron around them. He smells like fire and smoke and dust and he's shaking terribly, but it's Credence, and he's alive and he's an _idiot_ but he's alive.

"We were so worried and we couldn't find you and then you were smoke and Mr. Scamander told us about the Obscurus and –" Modesty babbles, shaking almost as badly as Credence is.

"Mother's dead," Chastity says in a gasp. "She's dead. I saw her, I touched her, she's _dead_ and _gone_."

Credence's arms tighten around them and he lets out a choked, stuttering sort of wail, tucking his face into her shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

Behind them, Chastity can hear Mr. Scamander standing up and she looks up to him. The man is not looking at them – but past them, into the room Credence had been… occupying. "Ah," he says and nothing more.

Chastity looks where he's staring and then goes tense. There's a man there, shirtless and bloodstained, sitting on his knees with arms outstretched, held up by chains attacked to the ceiling. He's hanging limply on the chains, unconscious or…

Credence gasps for a breath and looks up, first at Mr. Scamander and then at the man in the room. "I tried to undo the chains," he says, his voice a thin, watery thing. "I tried everything but they wouldn't open. I couldn't destroy them, I couldn't even destroy the ceiling, I couldn't do anything."

"Right," Mr. Scamander says and steps past them into the room.

"Credence, who is that?" Chastity asks worriedly, while Mr. Scamander crouches down to examine the unconscious man.

"It's Mr. Graves," her brother says in a weak whimper.

"The real one," Mr. Scamander agrees, tilting the unconscious man's head up to examine his eyes. "Hm," he says and then turns his attention to the chains. "Right – Pickett, what do you make of it?"

Credence frowns and then looks at Chastity. "How did you get here?" he asks. "How did you find me?"

"I _found_ you," Chastity says and makes the motion for her finding-things-trick. "Lot of you, bits of the smoke, was in a subway platform. We ran into Mr. Scamander there, he was trying to find you too."

"Found me?" Credence frowns. "How?"

"With, you know… with my trick?" Chastity says, waving her hand again.

"With magic," Modesty says. "Now that Mother's gone, it's okay to say it. Magic."

Credence stares at them in blank incomprehension. "What?"

"Credence?" Chastity asks worriedly.

"How do you know about magic, and what do you mean, your trick?"

Chastity leans back to stare at him disbelief. "Credence?" she asks incredulously. "What do you – we've always had magic! We've always known – you're the one who taught us to hide it! How do you not… you don't remember? How do you not remember?"

"You have magic?" Credence asks just as incredulously. "How do you have magic?"

"We've always had it," Modesty whispers. "Remember? We used to do magic in the secret all the time, chastity taught me things – the light and I almost can do the finding-trick too and –"

"How do you not remember?" Chastity whispers in horror. "You're the one who…"

"I think Credence has been Obliviated," Mr. Scamander says and then catches the unconscious Mr. Graves with a hand around the man's bare chest as one of the chains gives away.

"O-Obliviated?" Credence asks, confused.

"Your memory has been erased," the wizard says sympathetically, casting them a glance before turning to examine the unconscious man. "Not all of it – just pertinent parts of it, I imagine. I had suspicions about it, actually, can't say I am happy to have it confirmed."

"His memory has been erased?" Chastity chokes out. "Magic can do that?"

"You've always had magic?" Credence asks, turning at Chastity and Modesty in wonder. "And I've always known?"

"Yeah, you were the first one," Modesty says. "You knew what to tell us to do because you did it first."

"You always covered for us, before we learned to manage it – first me and then Modesty," Chastity says guiltily. "I guess… it's because of that we didn't become like you. Because you always… took the blame for us."

Credence stares at them, wondering. "What else have I forgotten?"

Chastity shakes her head and her breath shudders. Credence has always been the rock they leaned on – a shaky, shattered rock, but still, he'd been their support. To have him look at them like this, not knowing… Credence always knew the right thing to do, always knew just the right thing to say.

"I can't believe this," she whispers as her vision, still magically enhanced, blurs. "Why did they take your memory? Why yours…?"

There's a clatter of chain as the second chain gives away. Wiping her eyes Chastity looks up to see Mr. Scamander lying Mr. Graves on the floor and checking him over. Credence looks up as well and then gets up.

"Is he going to be alright?" he asks as he falls to his knees beside the unconscious man.

"With proper care," Mr. Scamander agrees, running his wand over the man. "He's not going to die anytime soon, but we should still take him to hospital." The wizard looks up, first at Credence and then at Chastity and Modesty. "Are you three going to stay here while I take Mr. Graves to the proper authorities, or…"

Credence swallows and looks at Chastity and Modesty. "I don't know," he says, his face twisting with helpless confusion. "I don't know what's going on anymore."

"Chastity?" Mr. Scamander asks gently.

"Can't we come with you?" She asks worriedly, standing up and pulling Modesty up as well. "All of us? Even if your suitcase isn't a place for children…" Right now, it seemed like the safest place she could imagine.

Credence couldn't remember and Chastity didn't know what to do, and poor Modesty as probably exhausted… but Mr. Scamander knew what's going on. He had taken care of them, looked after them, after Credence. And he had all the answers they desperately needed, all the explanations that could make sense of this.

The man considers it with a frown. "Very well," he says with a sigh. "But I will need you to be very careful and not touch… anything. Alright?"

* * *

 

"Did I forget this too?" Credence asks with wonder as they descend into the suitcase.

Chastity is still busy trying to wrap her head around the fact that there is a _shed_ in a _suitcase_ and then suddenly, there is a lot more than a mere shed in there. There's wide open space and sky and rooms and walls and _animals_ and she's fairly sure there is a forest little distance away. And somehow, it's all in suitcase.

"No I don't think we've ever been in a place like this before," Chastity says faintly.

"Is that a _lion_?" Modesty asks with hushed voice as they hear a very lion like roar sound in the distance.

"A Nundu, actually, they're more like tigers than lions really, and I really must press that you can't go anywhere near her – Nundu's breath is extremely diseased," Mr. Scamander says nervously as he waves his wand this way and that. He's erecting see through fabric barriers around the shed, like veils but even thinner. "Right, please stay within these walls – I can show you around later and tell you what to not do around here, but for now just, please, stay here."

Chastity shakes her head and there is a another cry coming from in the distance, this one sounding more like a bird. "Why are there animals here?"

"I'm a Magizoologist, I study magical creatures. I'm in process of writing a cohesive guide to where to find them and how to deal with them, in fact, but that's neither here nor there," Mr. Scamander says and then spells into existence a number of comfortable looking couches and a table, setting them in front of the shed. "There, it's not ideal but you should be able to make yourselves comfortable. Just stay within the barriers and it will be fine."

"Thank you Mr. Scamander," Modesty says.

"If – if Mr. Graves asks for me…" Credence starts to say and then stops, biting his lib.

"If he asks, I will obfuscate and promptly change the subject," Mr. Scamander says. "Reunions will have to wait until we know more, I'm afraid. Now I really must take him to hospital – will you three be alright here?"

"Yes, thank you Mr. Scamander. We'll be fine – we won't touch anything," Chastity promises.

The man looks at her and then nods. "Good," he says. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Then he's gone, leaving them alone in the blatantly magical place, with calls of various strange creatures all around them. It feels a little as if they'd walked into one of those fantasy books Mother never let them read. Above them the sky matches that of the real world – the morning light is just breaking out, it's first rays catching on the tops of screens and hanging tapestries.

"I don't know what's happening anymore," Credence says faintly and falls to sit on the couch Mr. Scamander had conjured. "I don't know what's happening. And I can't believe I've forgotten so much… I thought…"

Chastity bows her head and then sits beside him. The concept that he can't remember… most of their lives is terrifying. "Do you know when you forgot?" she asks quietly while Modesty tucks herself to Credence's other side.

Credence shakes his head miserably. "I didn't even know I had – it still feels like I haven't. This all feels new."

"Well, this is new to us too," Modesty mutters, looking up into the sky.

"Yeah," Chastity agrees and looks up. There's even a little bit of a wind, and yet they're in a _suitcase_. It's all very strange and terribly magical. "Very new."

Credence doesn't look up – he looks down instead, at his hands, scarred and red. "Have I always… had the thing?" he asks. "The… Obscurus?"

"I don't know – maybe," Chastity murmurs. "You used to tell us you could do magic too when you were little but eventually… you stopped. Mother punished you for it, so you stopped." She takes a deep breath. "I think you've always had it. The Obscures thing, the shadows – it feels like you do. It's just always been inside you, deep inside. You never let it out."

Credence considers that for a moment. "Then I think it was about a month ago," he says. "Because to me it feels like it's only been there for that long – like it just… appeared out of nowhere. And I didn't know what it was. I guess I'd… forgotten I had it."

Chastity swallows. It had been about month since the last time they'd crawled into Credence's bed. The last time Modesty had done it… Credence had just turned his back to her, letting her get in but not talking to her. Chastity had thought Credence was just feeling bad – it happened, sometimes he just didn't want to think about it, but…

He didn't know they used to do magic. He didn't remember.

"You've really always had magic?" Credence asks again, looking confused and lost. "Always?"

Chastity looks at him, and then away, wiping at her wet eyes. "Yeah," she whispers. "We've always had it. You taught us how to hide it, and covered for us when it slipped out – I always hated that, but you said it was safer, and you never let us take the blame. We used to show you how to do it, when we were sure Mother wouldn't see…"

Her voice breaks and Credence wraps an arm around her back. Modesty crawls into both their lap and they huddle there together, shaking and sniffling while around them dawn breaks in the magical suitcase.

 


	4. Chapter 4

World was smaller when you couldn't really go anywhere. That is how it had always felt to Chastity – like the world was really less of a world and more like set of walls closing in on them – or a barrier, they couldn't cross. At the church, with Mother, there was no crossing that barrier.

Now the church and Mother are both gone, and the world opens up bigger and far more terrifying that she had ever expected it to be. Suddenly they could go anywhere, they could be anything and yet… and yet. Having the solid ground, even so horrible as the one they had had, suddenly yanked from under them, having what measure of home and security so suddenly just _disappear_ …

"What are we going to do?" Credence murmurs, less to her and more to himself and Chastity shakes her head. Modesty has fallen asleep, her head on Credence's thigh, and they stare at her with hopeless misery.

She'd thought that finding Credence would make everything better – Credence always knew what to do, or so it seemed anyway. Credence, without his memories and with the Obscurus thing inside him, knew even less than she did – and it was terrifying.

"We can ask Mr. Scamander, when he comes back," Chastity says. "He can help us."

"Will he, though?" Credence asks and runs a hand over his face, rubbing at the shadows under his eyes. He's still shaky and pale and looks exhausted. "Why would he?"

Chastity watches him. "Because we're magic and so is he," she then says and looks away. "He told us – we should've gone to school, all of us. A magic school. And – and if we wanted to, we probably still could, Modesty and I. That if we went to the, the Magical Congress, they'd probably take care of us."

"Magical Congress," Credence mutters.

"Yeah," Chastity agrees, still not sure she believes it herself. "It's just… you."

Credence looks at her, frowning.

"I think people will come after you if they find you're still around," Chastity murmurs, looking away. She pulls her legs up and hugs her knees, hoping it would make her feel a bit more grounded. It doesn't. "Because the Obscurus thing. Mr. Scamander said that it might be safest for you if you stayed… dead. As far as anyone knows anyway."

Credence looks away, down at Modesty. "Maybe," he agrees, no inflection in his voice.

"We don't want you to go somewhere we can't go," Chastity says quietly. "And we don't want to go somewhere you can't come. I know we're not actually… relatives, but you're our brother. We should stay together. Right?"

Credence frowns at that, bowing his head. He's quiet for a long while, hands squeezed to fists against the couch cushions. "I… wanted to leave," he then says, his voice so faint she can just barely hear it. "I wanted him to take me away."

"What?" Chastity asks, blinking.

"Mr. Graves," Credence says, glancing at her and then away, looking ashamed. "When he – I don't remember how we met, but he promised me he'd help me, if I… helped him. I thought he'd take me away form the church. I hoped he would. And I wanted to go and – and… I… didn't care if you… stayed behind or not."

Chastity stares at him, her mouth slightly ajar.

"Now that I know I can't remember things, I think forgotten that too," Credence takes a breath. "I don't know much about you, Chastity. I don't know much about Modesty. I don't remember. And – and I didn't care because as far as I can remember… we're not that close."

"Oh," Chastity whispers, looking down. Her breath shudders wetly in her nose when she draws it to try and calm down. "W-well… lot of what we did together, it had to do with magic and… and if that was taken from you then I guess you wouldn't remember."

The happiest times in her life were when it was just the three of them – and before that, just her and Credence. Credence had always been there, he'd been the one to hug her and hold her and comfort her. In some way, Credence was… probably more her parent than Mother had ever been.

"D-do you think your memory can be returned?" Chastity almost whimpers because she can't lose that, she can't, she _can't_.

Credence shakes his head, looking guilty and awkward. "I don't know. I don't know how it even works," he says and sighs. "I don't know anything about magic, it turns out."

For a moment Chastity just breathes, trying to not cry again, covering her mouth with her hand to stop her lips from shaking. "We'll ask Mr. Scamander, he might know," she says then and draws another breath. "D-do you want me to tell you what you've forgotten?"

He looks up, desperately hopeful and ashamed all at once. "Please."

* * *

 

Mr. Scamander returns while Chastity is recounting how she learned to _find_ things. It had been when she'd stupidly enough started to keep diary, thinking that it would be private secret way for her to keep her thoughts in order and recount the things she couldn't say out loud.

"I was lucky I wasn't dumb enough to actually write down magic stuff," Chastity admits, leaning her cheek on Credence's shoulder. "Because of course Mother found out and of course she wanted to read through it. I'd written a bit about… I'd written some things she probably didn't like, because she hid it from me. Only way I could find it again was with magic."

"What did you do?" Credence asks with a frown. "When you did find it?"

"Nothing," Chastity admits. "If I did something Mother would've known it was me. So I didn't do anything, I just left it. It was probably still in the same place when the Church collapsed."

There's a sound behind them and they both turn sharply to see movement in the shed. Mr. Scamander appears moment later, looking a little bedraggled and tired. "Oh, you're still awake. Apologies – they wanted to question me afterwards, so that took a tad longer than I was hoping."

"How is Mr. Graves?" Credence asks quickly. "Is he awake?"

The wizard hesitates and then comes closer, not meeting their eyes. "He's awake and well on the way to recovery… but," he stops, bites his lip and then sighs. "There really is no kind way to say this. Credence, I'm sorry, but Mr. Graves has been held captive for better part of three months. He's never met you and you've never actually met him – it was only ever Grindelwald, pretending to be him."

Chastity is leaning heavily against Credence so she feels how tense he goes and then, how limp he goes with disappointment. "Oh," he says and looks away, eyes a little wide. Chastity watches him, how desperately he tries to not break down. "B-but he's alright," he says shakily.

"He'll be right as rain in no time at all," Mr. Scamander promises and flicks out a wand. Moment later, a chair is drawn out of nowhere and he takes a seat – but though he's facing them, he doesn't actually look at them. "I managed to hide your involvement in finding him," he adds. "As far as anyone knows, you're still quite dead."

"Right," Credence says and looks away.

"What happens now?" Chastity asks quietly.

"That's the question, isn't it," Mr. Scamander says, glances at her and then away again. "Credence, can you tell how far your memory loss goes?"

Credence shakes his head, swallowing and Chastity answers for him. "We've talked about it," she says. "We think he's lost everything to do with magic. We've been doing bits of magic all our lives and he's forgotten all of it." And most of _them_ along with that knowledge, she adds silently. "Is there any chance he can get those memories back?"

Mr. Scamander bites his lip and then shakes his head. "I doubt it," he says sadly. "Obliviation is the standard spell for memory manipulation because it is irreversible – it forcibly removes memories. Only way to recover from it is only if the Obliviation is done poorly in the first place. And I think Credence's memory was erased by Obliviators, experts on the matter."

"Obliviators?" Chastity asks. "Is… that a job?"

"Yes – Obliviators are usually government employees who's job is to maintain the Secrecy," Mr. Scamander explains. "They don't do shoddy work because only way to get the job is if you're very good at what you do. Wizards take the Secrecy very seriously."

"So… he'll never remember," Chastity whispers.

Years of secrets and stolen warmth and comfort – years of being close. Gone, just like that.

"I… thought it was he who did it. Grindelwald," Credence murmurs.

Mr. Scamander sighs. "No – though he probably found you because of it," he says. "You were most likely Obliviated because of an incident involving a Witch. She was investigating your church and… she witnessed your mother's abuse. She tried to help you, there was a magical scandal and… everyone was Obliviated."

"A witch tried to help Credence? Why?" Chastity asks with a frown.

"Because she's kind, and can't stand seeing other people senselessly hurt," Mr. Scamander says with a shake of his head. "She only wanted to help."

Chastity eyes him and then turns to Credence who's frowning with confusion. "I can't remember at all," Credence admits after a moment.

"You wouldn't," Mr. Scamander agrees. "You might have seen her, though, in the subway, when we were trying to help you."

There's a moment of silence as Credence thinks about it. Chastity turns back to Mr. Scamander. "What should we do now, Mr. Scamander?"

The man looks up at her and then clasps his hands together, tugging absently at his own fingers. "What you should do, hm. Well, first priority would be Credence learning about magic, about the Obscurus," he says, looking at Credence. "I imagine you had control over the Obscurus before your Obliviation – it's the only way you have lived this long. You need that control back or you might hurt yourself and other people again."

Credence swallows and nods. "How?" he then asks.

"I can help you," Mr. Scamander says. "If you'd like. I have some old books, and my own notes on the subject – I even have another Obscurus, though it's not like you."

"You have _another_ Obscurus?" Chastity asks with surprise.

"I met one in Sudan a while ago – a little girl in similar situation," Mr. Scamander says and looks down at his hand. "Imprisoned and punished for magic, she too developed an Obscurus. She's dead now, but I kept the Obscurus for study, hoping to learn something to help future Obscurials."

"That's why you want to help me?" Credence asks, frowning. "Just because I'm the Obscurus?"

Mr. Scamander sighs and looks up. "I'd help you regardless," he says. "But for as long as the Obscurus is in danger of killing you, it rather does take priority I'm afraid."

"It can kill Credence?" Chastity whispers.

"Most people like him don't live past their tenth birthday," Mr. Scamander says and shakes his head, looking at Credence. "You're the oldest Obscurial in known history. And I'm not going to lie to you – you don't have much time now, unless you gain control."

They stare at him with wide shocked eyes and the man looks down. "I'm sorry I didn't find you earlier," he says quietly. "You'd have more time if I had."

Credence shakes his head and covers his eyes with his hands, just breathing. Chastity leans against him and then looks at Mr. Scamander. "What about us?" she asks. "Me and Modesty? You can't take Credence away from us. You promised you wouldn't."

The wizard sighs and shakes his head. "Of course not," he says and stands up again. "It's probably better for everyone if you three do stay together. For his safety I would naturally prefer Credence to stay with me until he learns control, but if you have some other place you'd rather go instead, then I'd like to join you for as long as it takes."

"We don't have any place to go," Chastity says quietly.

"Right, of course," the man murmurs and looks around.

The protective veils shift gently in the magical wind and above them the morning is giving way to day, clouds drifting above head. It's all remarkably life like considering that they're in a suitcase. The animal calls in the distance, though, those are all very real. Chastity is almost used to them now.

"I have been thinking I could use an assistant around here. Maybe even an apprentice," Mr. Scamander murmurs and turns to Chastity. "How would you like a job, Chastity?"

* * *

 

While Credence leafs through the books Mr. Scamander has collected on the matter of Obscurials, Chastity and Mr. Scamander settle the terms of first her employment under him – and then, her apprenticeship.

It's almost too much, all of it. Mr. Scamander just haphazardly promises her all her dreams come true. Ability to freely use magic, magical training, research materials – "I'll get you all the standard school books, I suppose, and help you go through them at your pace," – money, _home_. He even promises her a _wand_.

"Mind you it's been a while since I've done magical shopping around New York," the wizard says, scratching at his scalp thoughtfully as he considers the contract he's drawing up. A magical contract – because those, according to him, let you bypass some of the legal nonsense. "I haven't the slightest clue about where we would go to buy you a wand, but I suppose we can figure that out."

Mr. Scamander promises both her, and her siblings, their own rooms inside the suitcase, done up to their liking within the limits of the suitcase of course.  "I can't promise you a pond or any sort of large water elements. Trust me, I tried, but creating artificial lakes in expanded magical space is next to impossible," he says. "But your everyday sort of thing, walls, furniture, that sort of thing is possible and I have been meaning to add a bathroom down here anyway, so I have most of the plans for that already drawn up."

"Right," Chastity says, desperately trying to keep up. "And, ah, what do I need to actually do?"

"Once I've taught you how to manage it, you'll help me with the creatures," the man says. "Just feeding for now I suppose, filling water troughs and so forth. Only with select animals, naturally – the Nundu for one you should not go near until you've mastered the right protective charms. And depending how you take to it, we'll see about more later. How is your handwriting?"

"Ah, decent?" Chastity offers.

"Hm," the man says and shows her the contract he's writing. His handwriting is bit of a sprawl, the cursive written so loosely it's next to illegible. "If it's better than mine, I might ask you to write some notes for me."

"It's… probably better than yours," Chastity offers. At least she thinks it is, no one has ever had problem reading her hand writing. "We did some calligraphy at the church, but I can practice with it more to make it better."

"If you'd like, but it's not necessary – if it's more legible than mine, it will probably do," the man says and considers the contract. "What else should I add, hmm."

What he adds is mostly restrictions – but not to her, to himself. He could not force her to do things or learn things she didn't like to do, he could not restrict her access to any information she wanted to learn, he could not restrict her coming and going, and so forth.

"Is that really necessary?" Chastity asks, though she can't deny it's a relief to see them added.

"Probably," Mr. Scamander says. "If not for any other reason then because Tina will strangle me if I don't set the terms properly. Now, let's talk pay. Actually, first, let's talk money."

Wizard money, Chastity soon finds, is utterly insane.

* * *

 

The first witch Chastity and her siblings meet is Tina Goldstein, the very same witch who tried to help Credence and who apparently would strangle Mr. Scamander if she thought he wasn't setting the terms of the contract properly.

"I cannot tell you how very sorry I am about… everything," she says miserably, looking between Chastity and her siblings. "Ever since Newt told us you two were witches, we've been looking into it, trying to figure out how all of this has passed through without anyone noticing. Three magical children can't just slip through cracks like that!"

"How did it happen, then?" Chastity asks with a slight frown. As she'd learned more about magic and the magical community, she'd been wondering. According to Mr. Scamander, Muggeborn witches and wizards like them were usually detected somehow, and invited to appropriate magical schools. He couldn't think of a reason why they hadn't.

"Your _Mother_ ," Miss Goldstein says sadly. "Credence was invited to attend Ilvermorny, as he should have been, when he turned eleven – your mother declined and her answer let it be believed he'd be home schooled instead. You were the same – and of course your sister is still three years away from magical schooling."

"Mother knew?" Modesty asks, frowning. Credence, who is hovering at the very edge of the discussion, looks away darkly.

"It seems she did," Miss Goldstein agrees quietly, looking between them. "The question we really have been puzzling over is how did she know. She adopted three magical children. How?"

Chastity folds her arms awkwardly. "Credence was born in the church," she says quietly. "I saw it on the records once. There was no mention about the mother, but the church is marked down as his place of birth. I was adopted when I was two – Credence once told me I spoke a bit of German before I forgot, but that's all we know about that. Modesty…"

"My Mommy knew I was a witch and gave me up to Mother," Modesty says quietly. "I guess I did magic and she didn't like it."

"Oh," Ms. Goldstein murmurs.

"Mother said –" Credence started and then frowned, looking away when everyone turned to him. "She said she _wasn't_ my mother, and that my Mother was a horrible woman. I think she was probably a witch."

Miss Goldstein looks between them sadly and Chastity looks away. It had always been a sort of vague fact of life – that Mother had adopted them because they were magic, with intention of… fixing them. And she probably thought she had too, at least in Chastity's and Modesty's case, because as far as she had known only Credence ever did magic.

"We're tightening the protocols about the handling of children in non-magical households," Miss Goldstein promises. "It really should have already been done when the new rules concerning Nomajes came into place, but for some reason they were left for last. It's going to be fixed now - this sort of thing won't happen again on American soil."

"Good," Chastity says quietly.

"You could still go to Ilvermorny, you know," the witch then offers. "With some tutoring, I'm sure you could catch up, Chastity."

Chastity shakes her head. Even if she hadn't already signed Mr. Scamander's contract, she'd already decided against it. All magical schools were boarding schools – you went there and then you spend months there, and that was the last thing she wanted. "I am not going to leave Credence and Modesty."

Ms. Goldstein presses her lips together disapprovingly and then looks at Mr. Scamander. "Then her magical education falls on you, Newt, and you better make it good."

"I know, I know," the man says from where he's considering a pile of books he'd brought into the suitcase. They look second hand and there's a lot of them. "Chastity is an intelligent young woman, I have no doubt it will go splendidly."

"Hm," Ms. Goldstein hums suspiciously. "You, a teacher," she mutters and shakes her head, turning to Chastity. "Please try not to learn his sensibilities. He has a sad lack of common sense and any sort of survival instincts and it will probably get him killed eventually."

"Oi," Mr. Scamander says, sounding mildly offended. "My sense of survival is excellent. I am alive, aren't I?"

"You have a _Nundu_ in your suitcase," Ms. Goldstein says flatly. "No, don't try to argue – a Nundu, Newt. There is no defence against that."

"She's perfectly behaved, you know," he mutters sullenly, looking at the books again.

"Right," Ms. Goldstein says and turns back to Chastity. "Please don't get anywhere near the Nundu, alright?"

"Mr. Scamander says I can't before I know how to defend myself," Chastity says, though a little uneasily now. "What's… so bad about the Nundu?" It had came up before too, Mr. Scamander having mentioned it occasionally.

"Among about hundred other things, it's breath can give you smallpox," Ms. Goldstein says with a grim sort of smile. "It's one of the most lethal magical creatures there are."

Chastity opens her mouth, and then snaps it close. "Oh," she says faintly. "I'll… stay clear from it then."

"Good," Ms. Goldstein says, and then turns to Modesty. "Now what are you going to be doing while your sister and brother are learning from Newt?"

Modesty shrugs. "I'll be doing the same thing, won't I?" she says. "I'm just not an Obscurus so I won't learn that and I can't have a wand yet, so I won't learn wand magic, but I will learn about other things."

"You're a kid. Don't you want to play?" Ms. Goldstein asks gently.

Modesty frowns uncertainly, looking at Chastity.

"We don't really have anything in way of toys," Chastity admits. They didn't even before the church had collapsed.

"We'll get you some," Mr. Scamander says, flicking his wand at the books and sending them flying towards the shed. Chastity could see them slipping into a neat lines on the shelves. "Along with your wand. Clothing too I suppose, you will need some protective gloves and such."

Ms. Goldstein sighs. "It worries me that we're actually allowing this," she mutters more to herself than anyone else and stands up. "First, you need to register your apprenticeship at the MACUSA you know. And your guardianship over Modesty."

"Yes, yes," Mr. Scamander says dismissively.

"Guardianship over Modesty?" Credence asks, turning to them.

"Chastity is too young and as far as anyone knows you are dead," Mr. Scamander says apologetically. "Technically I will also be assuming guardianship over Chastity, but that's natural part of the apprenticeship. It is only on paper, though. You three will always be in control of your own destinies."

Chastity isn't so sure. Credence, with his memories tampered and the Obscurus still uncontrolled, isn't in shape of taking care of them, not like he would've been before. He seems somehow younger now, with all the responsibilities he'd assumed over the years just wiped away from his memory. He doesn't know how anymore. And while Chastity herself could try … she doesn't think she can, really. Maybe if it was just her and Modesty – but it isn't. It's her and Modesty and Credence and the Obscurus and Magic and it's all too much.

She won't deny that the idea of Mr. Scamander being their guardian is a more than bit of a relief. But then, he already is, more or less.


	5. Chapter 5

 

> _11th of November, 1926_

My name is Chastity Barebone and this is my first entry in a journal in years. I wasn't sure if I would write anything here, but it seems like good way to practice my letters and though Mr. Scamander says they are more than good enough, it doesn't hurt to practice. Day might come I might have to write things for him, and it might come soon, and I should be prepared.

Mr. Scamander is my teacher – or, maybe, my master. I am his apprentice, but I'm not quite sure about the terminology yet. At the MACUSA's Education Offices they called him my Master, but I rather doubt he puts much stock in it. The whole apprenticeship is mostly a matter of convenience anyway, an excuse, to put me and my sister in his care. And with us, my brother.

Mr. Scamander has charmed this book so that only I can read or even see what's written here – otherwise I wouldn't even dare to write that. But it's safe – and Credence and Modesty both tested it and it works. And of course, even if Mr. Scamander could read it, which he very well might… he's not like Mother. As it is, he already knows this.

My brother is alive.

My brother is unwell.

And, really, we're here for him.

There, now I have it in writing somewhere. It's perhaps stupid to write this down – I know this, my siblings know this, my teacher is well aware of this… but it makes it more real. My brother is alive, unwell, and the reason why we're here.

We are on board an ocean liner currently, headed for England. Mr. Scamander is at the end of a year in the field and he wants to settle down for a little while to write down what he's experienced and learned during that year, or so he says. I don't know if he's perfectly honest about that – I wouldn't be surprised if we were _settling down for a while_ because of us. But I can't say I mind. Already, I don't know if travelling agrees with me.

We've not had much liberty in our lives, Credence, Modesty and myself – but being confined on this ship, in our cabin… it does feel a little cramped. And of course, Credence can't even leave the suitcase at all. He is on board this ship illegally, after all – everyone thinks he's dead, so it is not as if he has a ticket. Thankfully, the suitcase is in some cases bigger than the ocean liner.

Modesty, my sister, loves the ship however. She loves the ocean, loves the feel of the waves – loves running around the deck with her hair open no matter how cold it is. No one of us has the heart to stop her, no matter how improper it is. Mr. Scamander even gave a foul look at another passenger who told him to, I quote, _control her_.

It's strange and wonderful thing to have the protection of an adult.

* * *

 

 

> _13th of November, 1926_

I have been reading Mr. Scamander's notes on the subject of Magical Creatures while he's teaching Credence how to Meditate. It's some Asian practice, I think – he keeps mentioning monks and whatnot, apparently he learned how to do it himself from a Muggle – Nomaj – monk or some such. Poor Credence looks so confused.

I'm confused too, but less by the meditation – I don't have to learn it after all – but more by Mr. Scamander's handwriting. The man is a writer, he is an author – he is in process of writing what seems to be a first book of it's kind… and his handwriting is atrocious. How can anyone, how can _he_ understand a word of it, I haven't the faintest idea.

I will have to learn to read it however. I suspect I will have to transcribe it all anew for his publisher so that _they_ can read it without headache.

There's a storm going on in the outside – so we're all in the suitcase. In the suitcase it doesn't matter how badly the world outside rocks and roils – here, everything is stable and smooth. That explains why Mr. Scamander can carry the thing around so carelessly too – if shifts in the other side affect the inside, everything here would be sideways more often than not, really.

I have been learning a little about the creatures. Mostly about which ones are safe to approach. Mr. Scamander has me feed some of the less dangerous ones – the Mooncalves are my favourite by far, though the way they can surround you around feeding time can be a little overwhelming. My sister is particular about the Occamies – she's not Mr. Scamander's apprentice and too young to work besides, but she's completely claimed their care as much as she can.

It still makes my head to spin to think how strange, how different, our lives have become. Everything is a little bit strange and whole lot magical and it's all, almost, safe.

I think Credence has managed Meditation now. He and Mr. Scamander are sitting down on the floor of the forest habitat, under the trees and they both look so calm and peaceful – which is really something of a stretch for both. Credence has been so nervous here, and Mr. Scamander is always full of anxious energy. I didn't even know he could calm down like this, just sit there and do nothing.

It looks nice, actually.

Maybe I should learn too.

* * *

 

 

> _16th of November, 1926_

I have, officially, learned a new _spell_. And I used my wand – ten and half inches, Maple with Unicorn hair core, very flexible – to do it.

We've always been able to make things float a bit – it was the first thing I learned and the first thing I taught Modesty, back in the church. Thing is, it was never safe to do, and it was slow for us – and only thing we could really make float were things we wanted to come to us which, if Mother had seen it, would've given us up. So, we never much used it, only very rarely when Mother was nowhere in sight and when it was absolutely necessary.

With wand, it's different. With wand, you can _control it_. I can make things – small and light things for now, bits of paper and feathers – float this way and that, go up and down as I like. I can even float things from me to others, rather than only the other way around.

"It's generally the first spell most everyone learns," Mr. Scamander taught me – us, we were all listening of course. "Because it's fairly easy spell to learn and use to hone your control. Use is as much as you can be bothered to, Chastity – it's good aim practice."

Use is as much as I can be _bothered to_? I'm never going to _stop_ using it!

* * *

 

 

> _18th of November, 1926_

Credence broke up into the Obscurus today. He had a nightmare, a night terror even and he just… exploded out of his room and into the sky box, like a black storm cloud appearing from nowhere. And while no one got hurt and he didn't actually break anything, it was… scary. The animals are all roused up and terrified. They might not know what an Obscurus is, but they know a greater predator when they see it – even the Nundu is scared.

Mr. Scamander talked him down – it took him better part of half an hour before Credence would ease up and come down, come back to himself. But he's scared too and bad at hiding it.

Credence has had slips before – sometimes he does what Modesty calls _going smoky_ where his skin starts turning dark and his eyes go white and it looks like he's about to blur away. It usually happens when Mr. Scamander is trying to talk him through – or rather, around – everything that's made Credence this way in the first place. Mother, Grindelwald, the Obliviation, all of it. Difficult, terrible subjects which, bottled up, will strangle Credence from inside out. It always makes Credence shatter a little, to go over them again, but he must. Even he know he must.

He hasn't completely given into it before now – and now it has happened in his _sleep_. When he has no chance of controlling it.

"There is a potion for dreamless sleep, but I would rather not resort to using it," Mr. Scamander told us later. "It has it's own side effects, and sleep without dreams is a hollow sort of rest. We must deal with the nightmares a more… old fashioned way."

To make a long story short; Mr. Scamander is going to be reading us bedtime stories.

* * *

 

 

> _20th of November, 1926_

I had a private lesson with Mr. Scamander today – the first one I had, actually. For everything else, Credence and Modesty have been there also, listening in, but this was a little different because… well. It has less to do with magic and more to do with me being specifically Mr. Scamander's apprentice.

Mr. Scamander taught me about Black Market.

"Thing is, almost every creature in the suitcase is a rescue. I've rescued them from poachers, from traffickers, from terribly abusive owners who harvested them for their body parts," Mr. Scamander admitted to me. "The Nundu I rescued from a trap, the Cockatrice I took from auction house where they were going to selling him – the Occamies were a freshly laid clutch of eggs that would've been killed for their shells the moment those shells hardened."

It explains why the concept of simply smuggling Credence out of the country and keeping everyone under the impression my brother is dead does not much bother the man – Mr. Scamander is bit of a criminal, it turns out. He does it for good cause and with good intentions and I would never judge him for it, but his priorities do not seem to run with the law overly much. And no wonder.

In magical world, the creatures Mr. Scamander so adores and wishes to protect are generally valued for their parts, not as living beings. If they are not valuable because they simply are – like the Occamy eggs which have shells of pure silver and Graphorns whose horns are almost pure gold – it's because you can make things out of their parts. Dougal was kept in cage with his fur being harvested every time it grew long enough, for example – for the making of Invisibility Cloaks. As for the rest…

The potions industry is both terribly important and terribly valuable – and almost every creature in Mr. Scamander's suitcase is worth it's weight in gold in potions ingredients. Either they are harvested daily – swooping evil poison for example is good for Memory Potions – or they are maimed or even killed for them – there are so many uses for Dungbeetles and Billywig wings that it makes me a little sick to my stomach.

"My book is nowhere finished even with the notes I have – it will take another year or two on the field I suspect," Mr. Scamander says. "And depending on whether you call quits on me or not before that, chances are we will run into poaching sooner or later."

It's something I will have to prepare for it seems.

* * *

 

 

> _22nd of November, 1926_

Here's a delightfully embarrassing scene to brighten up our days – I had my period, and got my bedding all bloody. And Modesty saw – and screamed like I'd been stabbed. I cannot possibly convey the sheer utter _mortification_ of having both Mr. Scamander and Credence come in and see my bloody sheets.

Worse even was Mr. Scamander's absolutely terrible attempt of a explanation afterwards – as if I haven't had my courses for years now. God but the man can be terribly embarrassing at times. Endearingly so but still. I feel as if I will never be normal colour again – my face is still so red.

In the chaotic mess our lives have become, I had forgotten about this nonsense – and I suppose it is different for Witches because even the Goldsteins didn't think of preparing me for this on board the ship – though they certainly prepared us for almost everything else. We have enough new clothing to make our beds out of them, Modesty has more toys than we've ever had, we even have a library of used books and of magic to our disposal… but no one thought to get me sanitary napkins.

Mr. Scamander, bless is awkward heart, spend most of the day coming up with a solution – and while the result isn't quite the sort of pad I am used to, it works well enough. And it cleans itself!

I suppose witches just cast automatic cleaning charms on their under things – and that is definitely going up on my list as spells to learn.

* * *

 

 

> _23th of November, 1926_

I think Credence is getting better now. The bedtime stories are helping – I haven't heard him have a nightmare in couple of days now. He and Mr. Scamander spend a lot of time just talking now, and the meditation has become a daily thing. He seems… more at ease.

He still doesn't remember and never will and I think I will always mourn that. The more time passes the more it seems like the Credence I grew up with isn't as much changed as he is gone. This Credence, while still my brother, is a very different creature and I love him so much… but he different. He's awkward and shy and ashamed. But he is getting better.

He is opening up, more, he dares to talk more, and he doesn't look at Modesty and I like he's done something terrible to us. Well, not as much anyway. I think he will always carry that bit of shame with him, but he's starting to figure out that it wasn't his fault, not really.

Mr. Scamander is a awkward, but patient teacher and he's getting through to Credence and I am beyond grateful. Credence leans into him in a way I've never seen him do before and it is a little strange to see Credence so reliant on somebody, but at least that somebody is Mr. Scamander. I've heard them talk about the man who pretended to be Credence's friend. It makes me want to cry, to think Credence so helpless against the charms of someone so vile. In comparison Mr. Scamander is a far better option.

I'm not sure Credence can manage without that sort of comfort anymore. The self reliance he learned to protect Modesty and myself, the confidence he had in defending us… it's gone. It was terrible and I wish he hadn't done it now, but once he could stand up and stand up and take the hit for us and there was a sort of power in that. It was a choice he made, to protect us, and it made him strong.

That strength is gone now and he can't manage it anymore. Maybe one day he can be his own man and stand at least for himself again without needing to look up to others for approval, but… I doubt it.

I don't know if he will ever be alright – but he is getting _better_. And I'm glad for it. I still can't stop myself for mourning the version of my brother I've lost… but at least this one doesn't flinch away from me anymore.

* * *

 

 

> _25th of November, 1926_

We'll be arriving in England today. Mr. Scamander has send the Fwooper ahead to warn his brother – whose house we will be staying. He's expecting to be shouted at, and I think he's looking forward to it. Sometimes I don't understand my teacher at all.

Modesty is sad to be leaving the ship – she really took to ocean travel – but she's looking forward to seeing England. Apparently Mr. Scamander's brother inherited their family estate and while there are no Hippogriffs there anymore, the stables are still there and there might be Kneazles which Modesty is very excited about. I can't say I would mind seeing magical cats – which are actual cat sized and not giant and deadly like the Nundu is.

Credence is a little apprehensive, but then Credence is little apprehensive about everything now. Mr. Scamander assures us everything will be perfectly alright, his brother Theseus is very understanding if somewhat exasperated and no one will mind. And if worse came to worse, Mr. Scamander can always rent a flat, in London perhaps – it would put him closer to his editor anyway. Or we could just live under a bridge in the suitcase.

Hopefully it won't come to that though.

I though leaving New York was the start of our new life. I thought leaving everything behind was the step we took towards something new. Yet now it feels like it was just a waiting period, or perhaps one for mourning. England is only a dark green in the horizon now but my heart is pounding – I think it's going to start here and now.

We've left United States behind now. We've left behind the church and Mother, we've left behind every single shred of the New Salem Philanthropic Society. Everything dark and grim is behind us now and the sun is bright and the ocean is blue and England is vividly green and new and right in front of us.

From here on out, it will all be better.

From here on out, we'll be magic. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, that's the story. Thank you for reading and replying and have a merry Christmas!


End file.
